Voldemort's Christmas
by rainlettuce
Summary: Voldemort's Christmas isn't going well.


All I Want For Christmas blared from the living room, jerking Voldemort awake. He groaned, pulling one of his goose-feathered pillows over his head, wishing for the noise to go away. Since December first, Wormtail had been playing that infernal song on a loop.

No longer able to ignore it, Voldemort threw the pillow aside, yanked the pink satin eye mask off, and got out of bed. Pulling on a pale blue cashmere bathrobe, he yanked the bedroom door open and stomped down the stairs to the living room. He was going to make Wormtail regret ever discovering that song. Voldemort stopped dead in his tracks. His once dark living room was now full of light.

The pine from the Christmas tree, apple cinnamon, peppermint, and an array of other scents permeated the air. Garland adorned the staircase railing, a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, two red stockings were hung by the chimney, a poinsettia sat in the center of the coffee table, and a handsome Christmas tree stood in front of the window.

Voldemort wrinkled his nose in disgust. Christmas had thrown up all over his living room. Donning a Santa hat and singing along with Mariah Carey badly off tune, the culprit was arranging a few presents under the tree.

"Wormtail," growled Voldemort. But the music was too loud. Wormtail didn't hear him. "Wormtail."

How dare he ignore the Dark Lord? Voldemort approached him.

"Wormtail, turn that muggle crap off!" yelled Voldemort.

Wormtail jumped with a start.

"Oh, Happy Christmas, my lord," said Wormtail cheerfully, "do you like the decorations? I was up all night getting ready for today. And look, Santa came while you were sleeping."

"Wormtail, turn the music off before I hurt you," Voldemort said.

With a quick swish of Wormtail's wand, the living room grew silent. Voldemort sank into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Closing his eyes, pressing his long pale fingers into his temples, he messaged them gently. Of all the Death Eaters that could have been faithfully at his side, it had to have been Wormtail. There was a sudden flash accompanied by a click. Voldemort's eyes snapped open. In one of Wormtail's hands was a camera, in the other he shook a film.

"Wormtail, what is that?"

"The muggles call it a polaroid camera, my lord," said Wormtail. Seeing the confused look on Voldemort's face, he quickly explained, "you take a picture and it develops instantly. No need to go through the trouble of getting it developed at a store."

"I need a drink."

Wormtail put both the camera and still developing picture down on the coffee table and scurried off to the kitchen. Curiously, Voldemort picked up the camera. Wormtail was always bringing muggle things into the house. No matter how many times Voldemort threatened or tortured him, it always went ignored. But this muggle invention, this polaroid, was fascinating. Voldemort turned it in his hands, examining it at every angle. There was a blinding flash of light and the camera spit out the film.

"Argh!" Voldemort dropped the camera back onto the table. Black and white dots appeared in his vision. He rubbed his eyes as Wormtail came running back into the room.

"What happened, my lord?" Wormtail asked concerned.

"Your stupid muggle camera thing went off and nearly blinded me," Voldemort snapped.

Stifling his laughter, Wormtail handed a glass of eggnog to Voldemort.

"There's brandy in it," said Wormtail before Voldemort could ask.

Voldemort took a gulp and grimaced in disgust. He didn't really like eggnog, but drink it without complaint to please Wormtail since it was Christmas. Wormtail went over to the mantel, grabbed one of the stockings, and brought it over to Voldemort.

"This one's for you," he said, "go on. Open it and see what Santa left you."

Wormtail looked at him with anticipation. Voldemort sat his glass of eggnog down on the coffee table and looked inside the stocking. It was filled with coal. What kind of joke was this?

"Well?" said Wormtail.

Voldemort pulled out a piece of coal and held it up for Wormtail to see.

"Looks like someone's been a naughty boy this year, eh?" chuckled Wormtail.

Voldemort gave him an unamused look, which immediately shut him up. So far he hated Christmas. The doorbell rang. Wormtail went to answer it as Voldemort took another gulp of the foul eggnog. The only good thing about the eggnog was the brandy.

"Happy Christmas, my lord," a sang-song voice said.

Bellatrix entered the living room. So far he loathed Christmas. He might as well request Wormtail to bring him the whole bottle of brandy just to get through the day. Bellatrix perched herself on the armrest, her hand above Voldemort's head.

"Bella, what are you doing?" asked Voldemort.

"Mistletoe," she replied, wiggling her eyebrows.

Voldemort looked up. Pinched between Bellatrix's thumb and forefinger was a sprig of holly. As Bellatrix leaned toward him, her thin lips puckered, Voldemort scrambled off the chair, causing Bellatrix to fall face forward into it.

"Voldemort, give me a kiss," Bellatrix said seductively, "and maybe we could have a little Christmas fun of our own in your bedroom later."

Nope. He was done. Officially done. Screw Christmas.

"Where are you going, my lord?" Wormtail asked as Voldemort stomped back up the stairs.

"Back to bed."

"But what about your presents?"

"Bah humbug."

And Voldemort slammed the bedroom door closed.

(A/N: well, this sucks. sorry about that and the ending. i didn't know how else to end it. merry Christmas and happy holidays.)


End file.
